


Attachments

by ariel2me



Series: Drabble/Ficlet Collection [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of asoiaf drabbles written for single-word prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Stannis** ** & Ned, honor**

_It’s set in an AU where Robert finds out about Jon’s true parentage._

_********_

“Do you bring words from Robert?”

“Not words. A question. The same question he’s been asking all along. Where have you hidden the boy? Rhaegar’s boy.”

“Lyanna’s boy too. My sister’s boy.”

“So you chose blood over your king. The king to whom you have sworn an oath of loyalty.”

“So did you, Stannis, fifteen years ago. You chose blood over your duty to King Aerys when you took Robert’s side in the war. We are not so different, you and I.”

“I never pretended to be the Mad King’s closest companion and confidante, before stabbing him in the back! You hid the boy in plain sight as your bastard these last fourteen years. He must be somewhere close, a place we would least expect for the conspicuousness of it.”

“Jon. His name is Jon. He could be a thousand leagues away across the ocean.”

“Robert will not forgive you this betrayal, this treason. Not for all the love he holds for you, not for all your shared joy and laughter in the Vale.”

“I ask nothing for myself. I will accept my king’s punishment. But my wife and my children … they have not committed any crime, they knew nothing of Jon’s true origin. Robert’s word of honor that they will not be harmed, will not be punished for my sin – that’s all I ask.”

“Honor? Do you not think my brother will throw that back in your face? Where was your honor when you deceived your king? Where was your honor when you deceived your wife? You who prided yourself on your sense of honor.”

“I was protecting my sister’s honor. And honoring the promise I made to her, on her deathbed. Have you not had to choose, Stannis? Between one duty and another? You who prided yourself on your sense of duty.”

“So you chose your sister’s honor over your own. What about your wife’s honor? Shamed by a husband who betrayed her with another woman, forced to live under the same roof with the fruit of that betrayal.”

“That is between us, my wife and I. My sin in that regard is towards Catelyn, not Robert, not you. Strip away the rest of it – honor, duty, any other principle we may wish to lay claim to – I chose to protect the life of an innocent child. We both know what your brother is capable of.”

“If you claim to know what my brother is really capable of, then surely you should be worrying about the fate of your family. Would you choose the life of your sister’s bastard boy over your own wife and children?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Melisandre** ** & Shireen, Royalty**

“Why did the men call you Father’s true queen, Lady Melisandre?”

“They spoke in jest, my princess, and some spoke in ignorance. The one true king has only one queen and no other - your lady mother.”

 “Are you the Lord’s true queen?”

“The Lord of Light has no need for a queen. I am but His humble servant, here to do His bidding and to set His will upon the world.”

“Is Father His servant as well?”

_Show me Stannis, Lord. Show me your king, your instrument._

“Your father is the Lord’s chosen, my princess. The one true king with the weight of the world upon him, chosen to lead us out of darkness, to defeat the one true enemy.”

_Beyond the Wall the enemy grows stronger, and should he win the dawn will never come again._

“The Lord might have done better to give His chosen one a son and not a magic sword. A healthy son who can fight alongside the king in battle.”

“Whose words are those, my sweet princess? Not yours, I know, for your lady mother would never have allowed such thoughts to distress you.”

“I heard them from the same men who said you are my father’s true queen, Lady Melisandre.”

“You have the blood of the one true king in you. You will be the one true queen one day, my princess.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Daemon Sand & Doran Martell, scheming**

The prince was very kind when he turned down Daemon’s request for Arianne’s hand in marriage. Very kind, and with a look on his face that could have almost passed for sadness. Sadness tinted with regret, as if the prince was regretting that his own hands were tied, as if _he_ was not the one doing the rejection, the one dashing Daemon’s hope and crushing his dream.

The Bastard of Godsgrace could have forgiven the Prince of Dorne almost anything, except his kindness.

“Arianne has her own path that she must follow. I never meant for her to wed a Dornishman, either true-born or a bastard,” the prince had said then.

“Arianne needs a strong sword by her side,” the prince was saying now, as he made Daemon his daughter’s sworn shield to accompany her on the journey to the stormlands. “A strong sword and a steady hand.”

_You did not think me good enough for your daughter’s hand then,_ Daemon thought, _yet I am trustworthy enough in your eyes now to guard her precious life?_

This was not a thought worthy to be voiced aloud to his prince, his liege lord, the father of the woman who still had a place in his heart, despite everything.

“You know Arianne very well, in more ways than one,” the prince continued.

Were this Prince Oberyn speaking, Daemon’s ears would have been vigilant to the words behind the words, the knots and loops behind the simple tie, the plots and the schemes behind the seemingly uncomplicated plan of action. But this was Doran Martell, idle and indolent, late to action, a stranger to intrigues and conspiracies, not half the man his dead brother had been.

“You know my daughter in ways that many men do not, myself included,” Prince Doran concluded.

Had he, perhaps, grossly misjudged the Prince of Dorne and what he was capable of, Daemon wondered? Had they all, Arianne included, been guilty of underestimating Doran Martell from the start?


	4. Chapter 4

**Edmure & Brynden, practice**

_My much-missed uncle_ ,

My lord father (and your dearest brother) has asked to be remembered in your warmest recollection. Absence _does_ make the heart grow fonder, as my young and innocent self tried to reassure you before your departure for the Eyrie. Absence, and the constant stream of loyal words about your good self, uncle, from the mouth of Lord Hoster’s only son and heir. I am full of joy to have done you this service, in hopes that in my time of need, you would be kind enough to do the same for me.

_My wayward nephew_ ,

Brother Hoster never asked to be remembered even in my time in the privy! If this is your notion of deceiving, nephew, you still have much to learn about lying. Strange, for I could have sworn you have had enough practice in the matter, proficient as you were as a boy in deceiving Cat with imaginary injuries and illnesses so as to gather her full attention only for yourself.

Pray tell, who is the woman my redoubtable brother has forced you to wed? One of Walder Frey’s comely daughters, perhaps? You are sorely mistaken if you believe my assistance would in any way be able to “get you out of this” (those are the words heavily crossed out in your letter, I believe).

_Ser Brynden_ ,

Shame, good ser! Shame on you for your lack of faith in the poor, motherless boy who used to follow you around like a loyal dog following its master, the unfortunate half-orphan you taught archery, swordfighting and the art of manhood, the young man who unashamedly shed tears at your departure from Riverrun.

It is not one of Lord Frey’s daughters. Even my lord father could not have been that cruel, not to his only son and heir.

_Ser Edmure_ ,

Well, you _have_ been practicing diligently in one matter. Blackmail! Emotional blackmail of the most naked kind. I will remind you that I am not your sisters, ser. I will not cry out or shed tears at your pretend anguish or the memory of your boyhood self.

If the lady in question has no obvious defects or inadequacies you could object to, I’m afraid I do not see a way out, my boy. A lord’s younger brother might defy the lord in matters of marriages and alliances so long as he is willing to live in exile, but a lord’s heir (and the only son to boot), does not have the same luxury. Blame it on the accidents of birth, or the cruelty of fate that took your lady mother before she could give Hoster Tully another living son; but in this matter, you have less of a choice than I did.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Cersei** ** & Elia, Sunspear**

“I came to Casterly Rock once. Do you remember?”

“Yes, Your Grace. With your lady mother and your brother Prince Oberyn.”

 _Your_ _Grace_. It should have been Cersei being called Your Grace, Cersei married to the Crown Prince, Cersei whose wedding was being celebrated with magnificent feasts and glorious tourneys.  _You stole my life!_

“We had hoped that you and your brother might visit Sunspear in return, but I suppose Lord Tywin was much too busy with his duties to spare you both.”

That the princess would throw Cersei’s father rejection in her face did not surprise Cersei in the least.  _Yes! Father rejected your brother because I was meant for the king’s heir, not the younger son of Dorne who would not be inheriting anything at all. And now you and the Martells are laughing in our faces._

“I would have liked to visit Sunspear, Your Grace. I hear the blood oranges are a sight to behold,” Cersei replied, silently congratulating herself on the gracious tone of her voice.  _You will never know how much I despise you. Not yet. Not until it is too late._

Elia smiled, a smile that would have seemed genuine to anyone else looking, but Cersei knew better. The princess was mocking her, mocking her father, mocking her beloved Jaime, mocking the Lannisters.  _Smile. Smile while you still can._   _I will have the last laugh when that smile is finally_   _wiped off your face. The gods will not smile on you and on House Martell forever._

And yet Cersei wondered if the gods had in fact been playing a cruel trick on both of them. Elia Martell was born in a place where the eldest child would inherit, male or female, but she had not been born the eldest. Cersei was actually born the eldest - even if it was only moments before Jaime followed her into this world, his tiny fingers tightly clutching her leg - but Casterly Rock was where the eldest son ruled, not the eldest child.

She tossed the thought aside, contemptuous. Elia Martell would be queen someday. There was no reason for Cersei to feel any kind of bond with her, especially not the bond of thwarted dreams and ambition.


	6. Chapter 6

**Rhaella** ** & Joanna, loyalty**

Once they had bonded over this inescapable truth – Ariella would never truly understand what it meant to be a wife. Ariella Martell who was also a wife, who had a husband just like Rhaella and Joanna, but who above all else was the Princess of Dorne, the ruling Princess of Dorne in her own right with land, title and sworn bannermen in her possession, separate and unconnected to the man she had deigned to wed.

“Ariella’s foremost loyalty is to Dorne, and ours is to our husbands,” Joanna had summed it up succinctly.

What Rhaella did not say, what she had kept hidden from Joanna was this thought – that Joanna could not possibly understand what it was _really_ like either. To be a wife. Joanna who had her husband’s affection, Joanna who was said to rule her lord husband at home while he ruled the reign, Joanna who never went to bed each night terrified of the sound of her husband’s footsteps, dreading the smell of his breath, the touch of his talon-like fingers.

Loyalty to her husband kept Rhaella silent on the subject of Aerys’ appalling habits and mistreatment of his wife. Of his own sister.

“At least he is not like Aegon the Fourth,” Joanna had said once about Rhaella’s husband. _At least Aerys does not shame you with his mistresses and his infidelities and his bastards_ , was what she had meant.

There were worse things in life than infidelities. Much, much worse.

_He wanted you once, Joanna. Possibly he still does._

If there _were_ mistresses, perhaps Aerys would come to visit her less, the thought had come to Rhaella more than once. She would be left alone more often, would have some blessed moments of peace and quiet to prepare herself for the terror to come.

Perhaps with a woman that he _did_ covet, a woman who was not a sister he had been forced to wed to fulfill a prophecy, Aerys would not be so … Aerys-like. Would not be so cruel and monstrous.

But loyalty to a friend kept Rhaella’s tongue silent on these unworthy thoughts. She endured, and she kept her silence, in this, and in so many other things. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Selyse & Lysa, children**

“My sister just gave birth to another child.”

“Oh? Her sixth … isn’t it?”

“No, her fifth. A boy, again. Her third boy. The one before is a boy as well. Brandon. They named him after Ned’s brother, the one Catelyn was supposed to marry. Rather awkward, I should think.”

“No more awkward than Lord Stark naming his bastard after Lord Arryn. So your sister has three boys and two girls. How lucky she is, to have so many.”

“I doubt luck has anything to do with it. Her husband is young and strong.”

“Lord Arryn has given you a boy.”

“My precious Robert. He is ever so sweet. And yet they say I am a failure as a wife. I’ve given Jon just the one son, and the boy is sickly at that, they say. My Sweetrobin is not sickly! He is more sensitive that most boys, and in need of my constant care and affection.”

“They can’t blame you for the miscarriages and the stillbirths, surely.”

“And yet people do, don’t they? No one would say it is Stannis’ fault for not giving you a son. They would only blame  _you_  for the sickly daughter, not your husband, even though the child came from both parents. If only he has another wife, someone better, someone who could make him a happier man. Someone who could give him plenty of healthy sons, perhaps. They never say that about a woman, do they? They pity our husbands and yet have nothing but contempt and censure for us. Well, there  _are_  some women who would be much happier with a different husband.”

“My husband would not welcome their pity. Shireen is my husband’s rightful heir. My daughter is not sickly. She was ill with greyscale as a babe, but she survived the bout, and now Shireen is as healthy as any other child. I love my daughter. I want a son because it is the duty of every woman to give her husband one, but I would not wish my daughter away for all that. And I would never dream of blaming my husband for our failure to conceive a son.”

“Really? Who do you blame? The gods?”

“Our marital bed was cursed from the start, on our wedding night.”

“Ah … so you blame the king, then?”

“I blame a man who thought nothing about dishonoring his brother on his wedding night.”

“It was a boy, wasn’t it? The child conceived on your wedding night. The king’s bastard with your cousin … what is her name?”

“Delena.”

“What happened to her, afterwards?”

“She married a knight in her father’s household. Not an unhappy arrangement, since she had eyes on that knight even before Robert ever caught sight of her. My uncle would never have been content with a mere household knight for Delena before, but after … well, after the shameful event, Ser Hosman Nocross seemed like a suitable match after all.”

“Does she have other children, other than the one sired by the king?”

“Delena has two sons with her husband.”

“She has three sons, then. Just like my sister Catelyn. It doesn’t seem fair, does it? What did we do wrong?"

“Life is never fair, Lady Arryn. It is up to us to make it so. We both know the truth of that very, very well.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Stannis/Melisandre, lover**

She was not waiting for him. She sat in her parlor turning her cards, reading the future, working the present.    

She never waited for him; her -

 _Say the word. Say it_! Robert’s voice taunted him.

Her  _lover_.

What an absurd word it was.  _Lover_.

What a ridiculous phrase it was.  _Making love_.

As if love was somehow a given. And yet, for all that, still had to be manufactured, produced, coaxed and shaped into being.

 _I fuck. I don’t make love_ , Robert boasted.

(Only to the dead. Robert made love to the dead every night. The dead could not breathe a word of protest, after all; could not prove to be a disappointment, could not find him a disappointment in return.)

“You came,” she said, turning her head only slightly, all too briefly, not in the least surprised by his presence.

Had he become that predictable? Just another card for her to read?

“I knew you would,” she said.

“You know nothing of the sort! How  _could_  you know?”

There was that smile again, on her face - not gloating, not boastful, but almost sad. The one that said,  _I know more than you believe possible. I know all the secrets of the world._

The words that came out of her mouth were, “I know it, because  _you_  know it.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Stannis/Melisandre, earth**

They called Dragonstone bleak and forbidding, these indulged and cosseted Westerosi, who had never known true darkness, never had to fear the real absence of light. 

In Asshai, the stones that built the city were all black; black, greedy and rapacious, devouring all light, leaving only gloom and doom in its wake.

Her night fires burnt bright and strong, here in Dragonstone.         

In Asshai, the earth was barren, sterile,  _dead_.

She walked barefoot along the beach, here in Dragonstone, feeling the earth beneath her feet,  _alive_ ,  _alive_ , alive and kicking.    

“I was not born here, in Dragonstone.” His voice came trailing her wake.

She waited. You had to wait, with this man. You could not show him the way by  _showing_  him the way, by opening the door wide and beckoning to him, “ _Here, come to_   _me_.  _Come with me, to the light.”_

He would never come, that way. Stubborn, distrustful and suspicious to the last, true to his own nature.

You had to wait for him to believe that he was finding his own way out of the darkness, to search for the crack that let in the light, to break down that door with his own strength, driven by his own conviction.

“Your  _prophecy_. Born amidst salt and smoke. I was born in Storm’s End, in the same room high up the drum tower where my father was born, where my father’s father was born.”

“I know, my king. But there is merely being born - being pulled out of a mother’s belly - and then there is  _truly_  being born.”

He scoffed. “ _Another_  prophecy? Is there no end to your clever words?”

She opened her fist to show him the glittering sand gathered in her palm. “You scooped this earth with both hands, clenched them so tightly that your fingers bled. That was the day the raven came from King’s Landing with Robert’s command, naming you Lord of Dragonstone, and naming Renly Lord of Storm’s End. That was the day you killed the child, and a man was born in its place, here in Dragonstone, here amidst salt and smoke.”

Eyes narrowed with suspicion, he asked, “How would you know that?”

“The flame knows many things, Stannis.”

And a wife, a wife remembered even more.

And Melisandre, Melisandre of Asshai-by-the-Shadow, who  _had_  known true darkness, who knew what it was to mourn for the light, to grieve for its absence, would forget nothing in her wake.  


	10. Chapter 10

**Stannis/Melisandre, comfort**

She feared the dark. It took him far too long to understand that. She had warned him often enough about the coming darkness, about the long night that would never end, but those were meant figuratively, he had always believed, referring to the forces of the Great Other triumphing over her Lord of Light.

It had not occurred to him before, that what she feared more was  _literal_  darkness, the absence of light that was not merely a figure of speech to imply the lack of faith, but an actual, tangible,  _palpable_  non-presence.   

There she sat, by the dancing flame, her eyes searching, always searching. There he was, in her bed, pretending to sleep, his eyes watching, always watching.  A gust of wind blew strong through the half-closed window, and suddenly, they were both completely in the dark.

He laughed, a mirthless scoffing sound that echoed in the silent room. “What omen does  _that_  portent, my lady? If a mere gust of wind could put out your god’s flame, then what hope do we have against the forces of true darkness?”  

She  _always_  had an answer, before. She  _always_ had a reply ready, to whatever hole he attempted to poke in her faith, in her god, in her flame. It was as if she already knew the words he would speak while he was still rearranging them in his head, while those words were still half-formed, incomplete.

But not this time. This time, her tongue was strangely silent.  

“My lady?”

He knew fear. He could smell fear, on grown men, women and children alike. But more than that, the quality of her stillness was painfully, and horribly, familiar. This was him standing beside Robert at the parapet watching the gathering storm finally broke, nails dug deep into his own palm, muttering silent prayer to the Stranger with each heartbeat –  _no, not yet. You must not take them just yet, my mother and father._

When he reached her side, she turned her face away, this woman who had taken his face in her own hands, whose fingers had stroked and soothed him back to sleep night after night when the dreams, the screams and all the blood adamantly refused to leave him  _be_.   

He did not know the words, or the gestures. “I should not have laughed,” he finally said, the apology implied but not spoken, aware that he was failing spectacularly at something she had done for him far too many times to count.  

“I will lit a candle,” he said, about to move away.

“No. Stay,” she said, but her hand did not reach out for him, and her face was still turned away, determinedly. 

They sat in the dark, together, as close as you could possibly be without actually touching, and for once, his eyes left her be, ceased watching and examining her face looking for any crack, any sign of doubt, any trace of uncertainty.


End file.
